Love is for other people, not for me. At least that’s what I believed, until I met Julian Hill. The most famous rock star on the planet. A music god with untidy hair and the voice of an angel. I’ll never be anything but out, and he has very good reasons to stay in the closet. He just wants a little privacy. I understand that. Truly, I do. But no one makes me feel the way he does, and I’m pretty sure he has feelings for me as well. Which is inconvenient, since his record label just hired me to sue him. Guess I should’ve sorted things out before I kissed him…oops. 

What's worse than having Rider Kingston, the star quarterback, give you the big brushoff because he doesn't want to get serious? You'd probably think living across the street from him where you get a firsthand view of his hookups, right? That's what I thought. Until someone drops off a baby with a note pinned to her blanket that says one of those jocks - either Rider or one of his roommates - is the father. The problem? Baby mama doesn't mention which of these numbskulls is the sperm donor. I wouldn't care about their paternity problems - except my brother lives there too. 

There’s a fine line between lust and hate. I don’t care that Drew Merritt spent the last year transforming himself from grungy slob to sexy playboy. With messy, dirty blond hair and gorgeous eyes, his looks aren’t the problem. His mouth is. And the stupid things that come out of it. But after an emergency strands us together, and he does his damnedest to take care of me.... Let’s just say there’s one thing we don’t clash on. And it doesn’t involve talking. 

The day I showed up to Dax Moody’s sprawling home, I had no idea what was coming. As a traveling massage therapist, I was used to entering the houses of strangers. But this assignment was different from any before it. From the outside, I’d correctly assumed the owner was rich. What I didn’t realize was that he would be younger than I’d imagined, single, stunningly gorgeous, and mysterious.

What the hell do I know about raising a baby? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. Yet here I am, the sole guardian of my niece. I'd be lost if it weren't for Katherine, the beautiful girl who seems to have all the answers. Katherine, who's slowly finding her way into my cynical heart. I keep reminding myself that I can't fall for someone when we don't have a future. But telling myself this lie and believing it are two different things.

Life doesn’t always pan out as you expect. When it explodes in my face, literally, an old friend offers me a place to heal and a job renovating the kitchen of Burlington’s coolest wine bar. V&V is a chill fest. Living above it should be a blast. But I’m not built to be a social butterfly. Not anymore. I’m a damaged man. And I’m not its target clientele. At least, I think I’m not until I come face-to-face with the most beautiful human I’ve ever seen.

The furniture district is my personal hell. I don’t know my ass from an ottoman. But when a hot designer comes to my rescue, I realize my problems are bigger than the house I’m trying to furnish.

It was supposed to be the best day of my life. But the second I got up, things started to fall apart. The kitchen just caught on fire. Flowers were from a funeral. My bride-to-be just had an allergic reaction, leaving by ambulance. Oh, and my ex-girlfriend just walked into the church. They say you have to see the signs when they are right in front of you. Maybe she was just mine to have.

Foxed: to be thrown into a state of uncertainty—flustered, bamboozled, bewildered, puzzled, vexed. A.k.a., me. Jed Marshall. Fifty-five-year-old successful classic-car mechanic; divorced, mostly closeted, and whose wholly inexperienced bisexuality has suddenly awakened after one smoldering look and said, "Damn, who’s the hottie?" Or words to that effect.

How to behave when the guy who broke your heart 2,000 miles away turns up in your office: One: Don’t drop your lucky coffee cup in shock, even though it’s been 10 years. Two: Don’t get defensive when he asks how you ended up working his family’s ski mountain…and why you kept it a secret. Three: Give him the worst room in the resort. He deserves it for suddenly waltzing back in like he owns the place. (Which he kind of does.)